Milc/C.J. Milnes
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Chapter 20 - Lady Fayala
🕑 Added 2025-01-01 15:56:27 +0000 UTCAs Areskit gradually blurred into the horizon behind us and became lost in the vast expanse of the plains a weight lifted from my shoulders. I was essentially unburdened, carrying only my satchel and knife, which I had tucked into the wide leather belt that Kril had given me. Now I was away from the town and the riders, my freedom was only a decision away.
Three of the younger men walked alongside the cattle, long flexible sticks flicking out to guide them. The rest had spread out into the long grass and carried their spears point first, the butts propped over their shoulders and ready to throw. Easy enough to evade them if I had to.
Hatrikilo, Kril and myself walked a short distance behind the beasts of burden, the women just in front of us and Gedrik was sulking in the rear. I fought down the urge to ask how far we had to travel and looked for something else to break the amiable silence.
“Kril, can I get a spear please?” I asked.
“You want to carry the weight?” he glanced at me. “We’ve a long way to walk.”
“It will be fine,” I replied. I was twice as strong as any man I’d ever known and more than confident it wouldn't be an issue. It would also be nice to be armed again.
“Strange to speak so to your master, slave,” said Hatrikilo with a glare in my direction. I opened and closed my mouth. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. If this man was a died in the wool traditionalist he might attack me for being so disrespectful. He started chuckling, a deep booming noise that spooked the cattle and elicited a series of whip-like thwacks as the prods were deployed to steady them.
“Don’t fret boy. Kril has told me a little of the nature of your relationship. Why don’t we introduce ourselves? We’ll be spending a few months with no one else around so might as well start this off correctly. I am Hatrikilo, heir of Hatrikhan who is head of the Hatrik family. Loyal servants of Aresk and mighty warriors, our brightest talents are our escorts. They are named Hatrikull, Hatrikos and Hatrikend.” He gestured at the tallest three of our escorts moving through the grass fifty metres away.
“Hatrikip is leading the aurox, Hermant, Hermune, Hermald and Jandak make up the rest. The last three were close by and turned to us, crossing their arms across their chests in some kind of salute.
“Four brothers and some close allies?” I asked. Kril snorted.
“Something like that boy. The Herm family has been tied to us for generations. They are cousins,” rumbled Hatrikilo. “Jandak is my bastard son.”
“Are you all mononyms?” I asked in confusion. It would be incredibly complicated to remember them all when they all looked alike and all had the same start to their names. I could see the next few weeks being a constant barrage of “No, I’m Hermant, he’s Hermidid you fool”.
“What does that word mean?” asked Hatrikilo.
“It means they only have one name. Where I’m from you have a given name and a surname. A family name.”
“The shit-sitters use a similar format,” offered Kril. “Haklus Jarntis. That kind of thing. So Raymond is your given name? What is your family name?” I paused, but with a mental shrug I concluded it wasn’t worth lying to Kril about this. The old bastard seemed to have a six sense for falsehood. If I wasn’t going to flee I would need to start bonding with these people.
“Cobbler,” I said. The shortest of the women ahead of us tittered until the tall one swatted her.
“It’s meaning?” asked Hatrikilo.
“It means shoe maker,” I replied sheepishly.
“Craftsmen stock?” He turned and looked me up and down like a piece of meat or an animal at auction. “Not what I was expecting.”
“What about them?” I asked, pointing at the women. “You’ve only introduced the men.”
“They will give you their names if they choose. Until then you will simply call them ‘Lady’ if they speak to you,” barked Jandak from our left. I chose not to push the issue.
“What were you expecting?” I asked Hatrikilo to change the subject.
“You’re big. Well muscled. Not crafter stock. Kril says you can fight and hunt. He claims you’re excellent at trapping and foraging. He says you have a charisma that is hard to explain and that you will lead a mighty warband. He says a lot aurox-shit about many things so this isn’t unusual.” Hatrikilo didn’t look like he bought any of it, judging by the expression on his face.
“I don’t ‘claim’ it is that way, Hatrikilo. I stated the truth. My dreams are never wrong. This man has a great future,” Kril replied in my defence.
“You are small and weak because your children often go hungry. Children who aren’t properly fed never develop to their full potential,” I said casually and suppressed a smile as Jandak balked and strode over towards me.
“You’re not even a man but you call us weak!” he snarled as he lashed out with the butt of his spear. I caught the blow easily and shoved hard enough that he staggered away and landed on his rump. He rose to his feet blustering then stopped as he met my eyes. Perhaps it was the blueness of them that stopped him, I hadn’t seen any Areskyn with eyes like mine. He glared at me for a moment then burst out laughing.
“Oh this one I like! I will be the first to train him!” he declared loudly enough that all of our small party could hear him. “Well played baby Ur-Vile, but when we train this evening you’ll see why speed and strength isn’t everything!” he walked back to the side, chuckling evilly to himself.
“Too strong, too fast,” muttered Hatrikilo. “You weren’t lying.” he accused Kril as though telling the truth was some sort of crime. The wiry old man shrugged.
“I never speak aurox-shit, Trikilo. I’m famous among all the cities of the south for my forthright honesty. You should know that by now.”
“Fuck your cities and the south,” Hatrikilo replied amicably. “Show me the mark.” He glared at me. I glanced at Kril who was studiously observing the horizon. I lifted my sleeve and unwrapped the bandage hiding the tattoo Aresk had given me. He glared at it briefly then turned away with a snort.
“Now do you believe me? This is the solution to our problems!” cackled Kril happily. Hatrikilo grunted noncommittally.
“Our problems? I wonder how much they intersect, old man. I have problems. You have problems. He has problems.” Hatrikilo shot me another glare as he said the last sentence. I was very aware of my own problems so I nodded in reply.
“I will help you if I can but there are things I have to do that are more important,” I added. Five kills then home I’d go to settle accounts with the god-bitch.
“The problem is Hakubin, boy. We need a new King and it can’t be Hakudan,” said Kril.
“I can knock him for you no problem, as long as I won't get mobbed for it. He’s definitely on my list of acceptable targets. The boy is off limits though.”
“Knock?” asked Kril.
“Kill.”
“Oh that will be part of it but we need to win over the crowd. You need a reputation to match your character. That’s what this trip is about,” Kril replied.
“I don’t need a fucking PR campaign. I can off him in his sleep and catch a fast horse south!”
“I do not understand all of what you just said but I assume you mean killing him and fleeing would be simple. It would not. The entire tribe would hunt you. The entire tribe and all our allies. Thousands of warriors would be on your heels until you died. It would be a matter of honour and you would not leave the plains alive,” said Hatrikilo with simple confidence.
We walked, mostly in silence, for the rest of the afternoon. They wanted me to kill Hakubin but I would have to do it in a fashion that met their weird honour code. It felt a little like Poseidon offering me the Mortimer job again and set my teeth on edge, putting me in a bad mood.
When we stopped to make camp I fetched firewood with a couple of the men and when I came back three tents had been set up. They weren’t the complicated yurts of the village, more like wigwams with simple hide walls.
“You’re in this one with me and Trikilo,” said Kril waving a hand at the tent furthest from where the animals had been hobbled and were enjoying the contents of feed bags.
“The others?” I asked.
“The middle tent is for the women. The other is for the warriors. Do not attempt to enter the women's tent,” he told me. I ignored his implication. “You’re going to be busy anyway. Here.” He tossed some fine rope at me. “Go set up some snares. See if you can catch us some breakfast overnight.” His eyes twinkled as I looked down at the thin rope. I sent him a grateful look and moved back towards the small copse of trees to find likely animal paths I could trap.
When I got back to the camp, having set traps everywhere I thought I might catch a rabbit or fox, the light was fading and the first moon was already glowing in the sky. A fire was crackling and the smell of stewed meat and vegetables surrounded the camp. I accepted a bowl from one of the women with a nod of gratitude and went to sit by my shared tent to eat in silence. Why had they brought the women? This was meant to be dangerous after all and I couldn’t see the sense in exposing the females to the risk. In primitive societies women were highly protected. A tribe with fifty men and fifty women could lose forty men and still have fifty babies the next year. Losing eighty percent of the women was the end of the tribe.
“Why are they here?” I asked Kril quietly, waving my wooden spoon at the pair of women who were tending the pot.
“I need my attendants,” said a soft voice from behind me. I turned my head to find the woman I took to be Fayala smiling down at me. Her smile looked almost predatory in the half light of the moons and the flickering flames.
“Lady Fayala. I think he means why would we bring anyone other than warriors,” said Kril as he shovelled food into his face.
“Well that is a tale I might choose to share. I would want some answers myself in return,” she said. Her voice was like a cat’s purr, rough and smooth at the same time and very pleasant to listen to.
“What would my Lady ask of her humble Dreamer?” replied Kril in a deadpan voice.
“Not you!” she laughed. “Raymond Cobbler. Such a strange name. Are all your people named so?” she lowered herself gracefully to the grass. Beneath her long dress I saw flashes of tight leggings that failed to conceal her shapely legs.
“In my culture, yes. There are others with different standards.” She arched an eyebrow and I noticed the colour of her eyes again. Hazel. Coupled with their almond shape it gave her the gaze of a bird of prey.
“And where are you from?” she asked pointedly.
“I- you wouldn’t have heard of it. Suffice to say it’s a long way away and all I want to do is get home and settle some debts, if I can.” She glared at me, her lips pursing in annoyance.
“One day I’d like to hear of your home, Raymond.” She rose to her feet, said goodnight to Kril and went into her tent, calling out to the other women, whose names I discovered were Haylin and Gardel, to clean up the meal quickly and join her. Haylin, with her pink cheeks and bright eyes was constantly shooting coquettish looks at Jandak who was smirking and winking at her every chance he got.
“Boy. You need training. Come with us,” called Hatrikilo as three of the warriors, including Jandak, rose to their feet and grinned at each other.
I followed behind, ignoring the teasing and insults as we moved away from the fire a short distance. Kril shifted around so he could watch unobstructed and pulled out strips of dried meat to munch on like they were popcorn.
“We will begin with fist and foot. You have training in such fighting?" demanded Hatrikilo in a no nonsense tone. I nodded. I’d spent years learning various martial arts on top of the training I’d received in the military. I was competent at best, in my estimation. Why fight with fists when knives are more effective? Why use a knife when guns are a thing? A professional should always use the most effective tools available. Firearms are often too noisy, too attention grabbing so knives had played a major role in my activities back home.
Jandak shrugged out of his tunic and threw it to one side. He was short and hairy but covered in wiry muscles that bore a patchwork of scars. Most of his skin seemed to be made of scar tissue from what I could tell.
“Stop ogling me, I’m not into that. Come on then. Let’s see your form!” he laughed. I removed my own tunic and wearing just a loincloth, stepped into the arena formed by our audience.
He rushed me. His form was good, he went straight for a takedown, crouching low to hurl me off my feet and remove my range advantage. My fist slammed into his temple as soon as he was in range, knocking him face first into the dirt. He didn’t move immediately and I worried I’d struck too hard.
He lifted his head slowly and spat out a mouthful of dirt and grass.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he muttered as he slowly climbed back to his feet.
One on one none of them were a match for me. Even if I toned down my speed and strength to something merely human, my decades of sophisticated training and experience shone in the face of their brutal autodidactism. Once this became clear Hatrikilo ordered them to pair up against me. This was more challenging but not terribly so. Then he ordered a third to join in and it became difficult. The warriors worked reasonably well together, creating openings for each other to land blows and soon I was having to strain to hold them off. They tended to go for glory though and this gave me chances to exploit their lack of teamwork.
I was battered and bruised when Hatrikilo finally called a stop but I had emerged victorious in the end. Jandak smiled broadly and nodded his head deeply in my direction.
“Tomorrow we fight with staves, yes?” he chuckled as he walked back to the fire with a slight limp. The others all seemed excited to try themselves against me with weapons they assumed they knew better than me. I looked forward to disabusing them of the notion.
